Layover 10-12
Layover 10-12
by AlwaysCocked
CHAPTER TEN
"Talk to me, distract me," Gilly told Berto, forehead creased in discomfort from her swollen breasts. They were in an elevated rail car, just pulling away from Berto's hotel. Gilly was sitting down; if she stood up the movement of the train made her breasts sway, and she just couldn't stand it.
The car lit up with as the commuter magrail pulled out of the hotel. Then the AutoTint glass activated and the harsh sunlight was muted to a pleasant yellow glow, making the flatscreens lining the walls easier to see. They seemed to be running nothing but non-stop advertisements, but thankfully the sound was low enough that he could ignore them. Most of the products they seemed to be advertising had names he'd never heard of. As he rarely spent more than three consecutive weeks on any one planet, that wasn't a big surprise to him. Berto looked out at the mirrored skyscrapers passing by on both sides and the thick pedestrian traffic on the walks below and marveled at how clean and new the city looked. He had no idea what the tax rate was, but it had to be high.
Gilly's breasts pressed aggressively against her shirt, her nipples hard knobby lumps. Her shirt was darkening in spots as two of her nipples slowly leaked. She couldn't stop them; her rollers were set as tight as they could go. Her nipples were practically purple. There was a single lurch as they pulled out of the station, and Gilly grunted a little as the massive weight hanging from her ribcage bounced.
"Tell me about the Dairy," he said.
The car was maybe fifty feet long and ten wide. Down at the far end of the car he saw two big blue things that looked like massive eggs. He'd never seen anything like them before and had no idea what they did.
It was a mixed crowd this late in the morning. Perhaps fifteen people were spread about the car on padded benches. Some businessmen and -women, in traditionally styled suits as well as a few tongis. One tall, majestic looking woman in long black robes, the folds around her legs hiding, at first, the odd, ornate white cross. She even wore the traditional headcovering. Two grungy men who looked like manual laborers on their way home after the midnight shift stood nearby, eyeing the nun. The rest were women, with and without children, wearing a dizzying array of clothing styles.
"You said you go twice a day?"
"Four times. I get my hormone pop after the fourth milking."
Berto watched her globe-like breasts sway slightly as the magrail took a curve. Milk from three nipples was now wetting her shirt, gluing it to her bulging flesh.
"And how many of you are there?"
"Fourteen thousand in Garshak."
"Fourteen thousand just in this city alone?"
"Sure. They're starting to export G-Milk offworld now, and there's a lot of talk about bonuses for girls who'll increase their production."
"Doesn't the Dairy get crowded?"
"Well, there are three actual pumping stations, the Main and two secondaries. The one where we're going has about five hundred cubicles. It handles between two and three thousand lackeys a day."
"All of you being pumped out."
"I do it myself, actually. It's simple, really, I just sit down and hook my nipples up and let the draw tank do most of the work. Usually only takes about fifteen or twenty minutes."
"How much milk do you produce?" He couldn't take his eyes off her breasts. They were so big now that at first glance she appeared obese. A closer look revealed that it wasn't rolls of fat under her breasts, but instead more breasts. Berto remembered what her chest had looked like when they'd met, just after she'd left the Dairy. Her breasts then had been totally flat, nothing like the planets she was now wearing.
"I average about ten and a half liters a day, which works out to over point four liters per teat per visit, a little above average."
Your breasts must be nearly hollow!"
"I guess so. The government paid to have us GELFed, so they want to get their money's worth. Why have breastmeat that isn't producing, right? Besides, they pay us by the liter. I like it."
The passing mirrored buildings were dazzling in the bright sunlight even with the car's tinted windows. Covered, elevated walkways connected some of them, and passed above and below the magrail line. The two laborers were now both talking to the nun near the back corner of the car. Her smile was so wide, so white, so radiant and full of joy he wanted to walk over just so he could hear what she was saying. He had to force himself back to Gilly's situation.
"That's got to be irritating," he said, thinking about her 'occupation'. "You can never make plans for anything that lasts more than a few hours, otherwise you'll . . . . burst."
She laughed, then groaned as her milk-strained flesh bounced. "Not quite," she told him. "I've got an AutoMilker at my apartment that I can take with me if I have to go somewhere. But I still need to transport the drawn milk to the Dairy within a day."
"What happens if you miss a milking or two? Or decide you want out of the program?"
"Oh, we can't do that," she laughed. "Our parents signed a contract, and it's binding on us. In fact, once we're old enough to have consistent production they set a minimum quota that we have to meet."
"What happens if you don't make it?"
"Oh, they have counselors that talk to you, see if you're eating right, or drinking enough, or maybe not taking your pop at the same time each day. That's usually the problem."
"What happens if there's still a problem? What can they even do about it?" The whole thing sounds like indentured servitude, he added silently.
"Well, it hardly ever happens," she admitted, "but some girls just can't handle being a lackey. Five years after they start producing they want out. And there are those that don't feel they should have to honor contracts their parents signed, which is just crazy. It is the law," Gilly said indignantly.
"For the ones that won't honor their contract, if all else fails, they get an attitude adjustment by some of the clinic medicos. Those girls that don't want to quit, but just can't get a handle on their production because of personal problems, are treated firmly but fairly, and put into FPP."
"What's that?"
"The Forced Production Program. It's the only way the government can get the right amount of milk out of them. They have to move into quarters at the Lackey Center, and instead of one pop a day they're given four or five, and metabolism kickers. They don't have any time to make trouble after that, they're too busy. I knew one girl when I just started producing that just couldn't get herself organized. Emotional problems. Her production kept dropping, and she was warned time after time, then finally one day she just vanished." Gilly nodded at him.
"Everyone knew she'd been put into the FPP. I saw her six months later. She'd lost about ten kilos, and she'd been skinny to begin with. And her breasts were huge. She told us that they'd kept her locked in a room, hooked up to a draw tank almost constantly because of the amount of hormones they were giving her. She said it was as if her nipples had turned into faucets, and she was always thirsty no matter how much water she drank. And even pumping all the time her teats got stretched out, red lines everywhere.
"The guards treated her horribly. The worst part about it, she said, was that she was so bubbly all the time from the hormones that no matter how mean they were to her she still begged them for a scoop. They scooped her all the time, too, but it was never enough. They made her do all sorts of weird things, because they knew she couldn't say no."
"How long was she there?"
"Four months. Four months of near constant milking. They said they only kept her as long as it took her to replace all the milk she'd shorted them over the years. She's still not back to normal. Her breasts are these huge pillowcases, and she's already got drawteat. If she lets them get too full she can't even walk. She can't even get her arms around them then. And even on just one pop a day she's still milking six or seven times and bubbly as a Jack fiend. She's not right in the head either, after four months on pop overdose."
"That's horrible!" He couldn't believe what she was telling him. They weren't indentured servants, they were slaves.
Gilly shrugged. "Well, she brought the trouble on herself. They treat the slackers like that for a reason."
"Yeah, to keep the rest of you in line."
"Exactly!" She beamed at him.
"What's drawteat?" he asked her.
"Oh! Well, the way we give our milk to the Dairy is by hooking our nipples up to vacuum hoses, right? The nozzles fit right over the nipple, and the milk gets sucked out, is put through a purifier/analyzer, and goes into the drawtank. Each time it takes fifteen or twenty minutes, and we've got to go three or four times a day. That's a lot of time on the hoses. A lot of the veteran lackeys, not all, but about half of those that've been producing ten or more years, get drawteat. The suction, over time, makes their nipples stretch out. Or, sometimes, it's the breast itself that gets drawn out. My nipples are a lot bigger than they used to be, but they're nothing like what I've seen on some of the old lackeys."
Berto tried to picture it. The way Gilly described these women's nipples he imagined them looking like a cow's udders, but that was silly.
The car beeped again as it neared another station and began to slow down. "Our stop," Gilly announced. She stood up with the care of a pregnant woman.
Berto glanced toward the end of the car as the train slid to a graceful stop and the doors opened. The two laborers had their backs to him as they crowded the rear corner of the car. At first he didn't even see the nun.
"Hey!" he shouted involuntarily, when he saw what was happening. Gilly turned her head to see what had gotten him so upset.
"That's a Sister Of Mercy," she told him, taking his hand. "Didn't you see the habit? That's what they're there for." She gingerly exited the car, careful not to bounce and trying not to be jostled by the crowds. None of the other passengers in the car seemed concerned about the nun; in truth, she seemed happy to be on her knees, servicing the men not just with glee but a display of oral skills so astounding it left Berto standing gapemouthed as the doors shut and the train pulled away.
The magrail had deposited them deep in the heart of a huge pyramid-shaped office building. Assorted retailers lined the mezzanine, selling everything from candy to computer notepads. The area buzzed with activity, people hurrying this way and that, a few waiting for the next train to arrive. Gilly led him slowly through the foot traffic to an escalator heading down. From there they took one moving walkway, then another, ever deeper into the bowels of the building. Berto got his first glimpse of a lackey other than Gilly as a tall slender woman in a tongi got on the walkway ahead of them. Clearly visible inside her robe were the bulges of multiple breasts, substantially smaller than Gilly's.
"Bringing a pole-donor in case you get bored on the hoses?" Berto and Gilly both turned to see another lackey. She had short, fiery red hair, and wore an outfit that took Berto's breath away.
It was a light blue Sweatrem one-piece, and covered her to wrists and ankles. The front was scooped low to display the cleavage of her jutting breasts. The rest of the Sweatrem clung to her curves, including her four other breasts, like a second skin. The tight fabric displayed her six big breasts more flagrantly than if she'd been nude, which was exactly the point of it -- she'd chosen the outfit for what it didn't conceal. Milk had seeped through the material and hung on her swollen globes in drops.
"He wanted to see the Dairy," Gilly explained.
"You want to see a dairy?" the redhead asked him. With a filthy grin she lifted her arms above her head and shook her breasts from side to side. It was a version of the latest dance craze, the Switch, but he doubted if anyone had ever done it the way he'd just witnessed.
She stopped after about ten seconds, hair in disarray. The walkway around her feet was patterned with white drops. "How was that?" she asked with a grin. Her breasts were all askew inside the one-piece.
Berto knew he didn't have the words. "Indescribable," he told her truthfully.
"Your pop hitting you?" Gilly asked her, sounding a tad possessive.
"Not any more than usual," she said, staring at Berto. She licked her lips suggestively, then went about rearranging her breasts inside her top, pretending she didn't know he'd watch her every move.
"I forgot to mention that you'd be surrounded by a bunch of bubbly women," Gilly stage whispered.
"You're about ready to burst," the redhead said, nodding at Gilly's milk-soaked shirtfront.
Gilly gave her a big smile. "We overslept."
"Lucky you."
The walkways had taken them to a more secluded area of the building. The moving non-skid walk ran down the center of a narrow corridor. Berto supposed it was for the lackey's comfort; in Gilly's state, walking would have been unbearable, and almost impossible. To either side occasional wide doors loomed.
"Back there are the storage tanks," Gilly told him. "Refrigerated. There's a spur off the main magrail right below us, and the day's production gets pumped into a tanker car and taken to the factory to be tested and packaged. Today's milking will be on the shelves by tomorrow night."
"Hey!" he said suddenly. "PureGirl, right? PureGirl milk? Is that what they do with your milk?"
Gilly cocked her head. "That's one of the brand names they package it under."
Berto didn't know what to say. "I drank some of that when I got here."
Gilly smiled. "You could have been drinking my milk!" she said cheerily.
The redhead's eyebrows went up. "He hasn't been?"
It was as if he was living a dream. Never in the far reaches of his brain could Berto have imagined something like this. Lackeys, Gilly, the hormone pops that kept them bubbling over constantly. And none of them seemed to think that there was anything unusual about it. Not only was it the weirdest thing he'd ever even heard of, the fact he seemed to be the only person to think so made him want to question his own sanity. The redhead behind him, with her pretty face, six big breasts, and phenomenal body clad only in a twoskin bodyglove, was a perfect example. Two days ago she would've been the most unbelievably beautiful and erotically charged vision he'd ever seen in his life. But now she didn't even really interest him. Why? Because he was already with another girl, younger, nicer, and just as pretty, with bigger breasts! Not to mention that the redhead was, as unnatural as it seemed, nothing special. She was just one of fourteen thousand dairy cows the government treated like slaves and jacked up until no man near one was safe. He'd fallen asleep, and awakened in a sexvid. And a damned good one at that.
The walkway ended outside what appeared to be a large waiting room. Rows of chairs filled the big space, and more of those big blue eggs lined one wall. At this hour the Dairy wasn't busy, and he saw only a dozen or so women. Two looked like they'd been swallowed by the blue eggs, arms and legs jutting out of the orbs, but from the noises they were making Berto finally realized the eggs were some sort of sexual device. The other women stood in groups and were talking idly.
A wide gated doorway flanked by two uniformed guards was the room's only other feature. Two women were in line outside it, and as he watched the panel next to the gate beeped and a light on it turned from green to red. The first woman in line passed through the gate, and the second moved up to wait her turn.
"Oh good, it's not crowded, I don't think I would've been able to wait," Gilly said.
"Are they going to let me in?" he asked, seeing all the security.
"We're allowed to bring guests," the redhead said. "Some cowgirls bring their husbands, some a synthetic. They know what the pops do to us," she went on knowingly. "Sometimes I think they meant it to be this way." Cowgirls?
"You mean they could keep up our production without making us bubbly?" Gilly said.
"I wouldn't doubt it. But what would be the fun in that?" She winked at Berto and then stopped to talk to a middleaged nurser, the oldest one Berto had yet seen. Her sloppy tongi gapped open, revealing mountainous breasts that had long since lost their battle with gravity. They were great slabs of meat, wide and flat, mounded upon her torso in layers. From a distance she might appear to be one of those grossly obese people with jiggling rolls of fat hanging below their waist, but up close Berto could see it was all breastmeat.
By the time they got to the security gate there was no line. Gilly slid her Identicard into a slot in the console and waited for the red light to turn green, indicating an open cubicle inside. In just a few seconds it did just that. She was directed to cubicle C-3.
Before he was allowed inside Berto had to let the guards scan his ID bracelet issued to him by the Tourism Bureau. His name and personal info came up on their screens, including his arrival and departure schedule.
"Eighteen hours out of decontam and he's already snagged a juggie," one guard said to the other out of the corner of his mouth. "Bet you've been having fun," he said to Berto.
"Don't pinch me, I don't want to wake up," Berto said.
"I heard that."
Gilly pushed against the gate and he followed her in. She slowly moved down the short corridor and he followed. The smell was the first thing he noticed; it was something from a long forgotten dream, and made him think of his childhood and, briefly, his mother. It was sweet -- G-Milk, he assumed, and something more. Something more musky, more feminine. The scent of two thousand bubbly nursers with their straining teats hooked up to draw tanks. He sucked in huge lungfuls of the stuff, and found himself as hard as an iron bar. No surprise there -- the air was full of female pheromones; every man who spent more than five minutes inside the Dairy was affected.
The corridor opened into a big room. At first glance it appeared they'd wandered into the heart of any one of a thousand nameless conglomerates. Everything was grey or splashed in muted, unattractive pastels, and while not old, seemed worn. Berto supposed two thousand nursers a day would tend to wear out things quickly.
The ceiling was lower than he thought it would be, for some reason. The recessed light panels seemed to also be heatlamps; he could feel the warmth on his skin, a comfortable temperature, not quite hot. In front of him an aisle, stretching away, all the way to the far end of the room. It was lined on each side by small, grey-walled cubicles. They didn't seem very deep; in each, he could see a female, but usually little more than their backs as they sat, facing away from the corridor.
It took him a while to notice, but the big room was filled with noise, a constant hum that sometimes rose and fell but never disappeared completely. Women talking and laughing, and then fainter still, he could hear sighs, and moans, and women crying out in a way that got his blood pounding.
Gilly led him along the wall to the next aisle and started down it, holding his hand. Row C was the line of cubicles to his left. As he followed her his head spun around as if on a swivel. Every cubicle he saw, every one -- and there were hundreds -- was filled by a nurser. The foot traffic was constant as they came and went, some tying tongis about their waists as they passed.
The cubicles themselves were rather unimpressive. About six feet wide by five deep, they were separated by grey-fabric-covered partition walls that had seen a lot of abuse. They were decorated with stains, tears, and, surprisingly, dents. Each had an oddly shaped recliner chair in the center, facing the back of the cubicle.
At the rear of the Gilly's designated cubicle, on the floor, was a large steel cabinet. It sported two wide doors and a display screen that read AUTOCLEAN COMPLETE -- PLEASE INSERT CARD. There was barely enough room for the both of them in the small space. The chair took up nearly half the room.
Gilly inserted her card into the top of the cabinet console. The readout changed:
WELCOME TANGELA SVENSEN!
PRODUCTION TOTALS
TOTAL LIFETIME: 23,542.26L
CURRENT YTD: 2121.59L
CURRENT DAILY DRAW (AVG.): 10.29L RANK: 2312
LAST VISIT: 2.419L
THIS IS YOUR 1ST VISIT TODAY.
"Tangela?" Berto said.
"Ugh, I just hate that name," she said, as the doors on the front of the cabinet began to swing open.
"What does 'RANK' mean?" Inside the cabinet he saw a tangled weave of clear plastic tubing.
"That's how many nursers have a higher average daily production than me," she explained. "But it's really misleading. The longer I'm in the program the more I'll produce, it happens to everyone. The constant milking makes our glands get bigger, which I don't mind, but it'll probably also make my teats flat and floppy. But when I get out of the program I can have them tightened up again."
She very carefully leaned over and reached into the cabinet. Gilly swung out a metal arm from which hung six of the clear hoses. Each was tipped with what appeared to Berto to be a nozzle fashioned of black rubber. The nozzles were clipped to the sides of the metal arm in rows.
"If you compare my production to nursers that have been in the program the same amount of time as me," Gilly went on, "I'm actually in the top five percent." With the care of a pregnant woman Gilly settled into the chair. The hoses hung from the steel arm directly in front of her knees. The nozzles were a soft black rubber and slightly conical in design. Each was about two inches across at the mouth; the hoses themselves were an inch in diameter.
"Of course, if I do this a few more times I won't have to wait years for my production to go up," Gilly said, indicating her straining breasts. "That's what some girls do, actually. The money would be nice, but getting this full is just too uncomfortable." Gilly pulled her shirt slowly over her head and let it drop to the floor.
"Krikes!" Berto gasped, staring at her. If he'd thought her breasts had been full before, they seemed ready to rupture now. Huge bulging veins wormed their way across her globes, forced outward against her skin by her insanely swollen milk glands. The skin covering her breasts was stretched so tight it was shiny. Each had gained at least two centimeters in diameter since he'd seen them last.
"I hope I don't get stretchmarks from this," Gilly said, looking down at herself. "It's just a simple vacuum hose system," she told him, leaning forward. "I'm going to need your help with this, otherwise half my milk's going to end up on the walls."
"What should I do?"
"Pinch the end of my nipple, as hard as you can," Gilly instructed him, indicating her lower left breast. "Don't worry about hurting me, it's gone numb from the rollers."
Berto did as she instructed, roughly squeezing the dark purply-red flesh jutting out past the metal rollers. She undid the roller with one hand while moving the nozzle close with the other. She touched a button on the arm above where the hose disappeared into the steel and Berto heard hissing. Gilly slid her thumb and forefinger onto her nipple behind Berto's fingers and told him to let go. When he did she deftly stuck the vacuum nozzle onto her nipple, sliding her fingers out of the way at the last moment.
The clear interior of the hose was immediately coated in thick white milk. Berto was surprised to see that the milk didn't come from just one main hole in her nipple but from many. He helped her the same way with her other five breasts until Gilly was fully attached to the vacuum system. She looked like a fly caught in a spider's web.
"Oh, that's so much better," she sighed.
"So it just sucks the milk out?" he asked her. Gilly was sitting quietly in the chair, checking the nozzles to make sure their seals were airtight. A faint hissing filled the air.
"I have to massage my breasts to get all the milk out," she explained. "The last ten percent, usually. But today I'm so stretched out I'll probably have to do a lot more squeezing."
A readout on the cabinet's console kept track of her output. .837L it read, and the number kept climbing. He leaned back against the side of the partition and watched her. Gilly finally could relax with all six of her nipples hooked up, and she sighed contentedly. Idly she stroked her breasts, maybe to encourage the flow, but it didn't look to Berto like she was even aware she was doing it. He began to feel as if he was intruding on her personal space; Gilly seemed to have forgotten he was there; retreated inside herself, her mind focused on her teats. He looked up, then around, not wanting to have her turn around and see him staring at her, even though it was fascinating to watch.
Looking around, however, didn't make him feel more relaxed at all. He'd never seen so many backs in all his life. Bare backs, belonging to the women who filled every stall. Most wore tongis, pooled around their waists, and a few were totally nude, with the rest somewhere in-between. Most sat in the chairs, leaning forward over the vacuum tubing, to help the milk flow. He could see the backs of thirty women from where he stood, and just about every one of them seemed to be masturbating. Some had other options: a nearby woman, standing bent over, was being gently taken by the man behind her. Her small slack breasts swayed gently in rhythm with his strokes, hoses clamped tight to every one of her nipples. They were careful not to dislodge any of the white-lined hoses, even though, from the looseness of her breasts, she appeared nearly pumped out.
"Jesus," Berto murmured. It felt like his cock was going to rip a hole right through his pants. He looked down at Gilly, who was still in her own world, then back down the aisle.
"If you're bored, I could use a hand."
The woman was across the aisle and several cubicles down. She was tall and slender, statuesque even, with shoulder-length red hair and a winning smile. A pink tongi was pooled around her hips as she sat in the chair, leaning forward. She was turned three-quarters of the way away from Berto, but he could see the milk-filled hoses dangling from her chest. He could also see she'd been playing with herself; still was, in fact. If there was any doubt in his mind that she'd been talking to him, her direct stare erased it.
"Oh, ah," he began, and turned halfway toward Gilly, pointing. "I'm--"
"Go on if you want to," Gilly said, surprising him. She'd turned her head in his direction, but didn't want to move her torso, not yet. She was still two-thirds full, and if a nozzle came off she'd make quite a mess. "I told you how bad the hormone pops make us. I don't mind if you lend a helping hand. But don't forget who you came with ."
"Are you sure?" Berto said.
"My chest is too sore to even think about fiddling myself," she told him, "much less furtspurting with you. And it's going to be another fifteen minutes at least.. Go on, if you want to."
"You heard her," the redhead said. Her thighs were splayed wide as she sat on the chair, and he could see her right forearm working busily.
Berto felt like a traitor, but Gilly had been very firm and insistent, and he'd be insane not to. He took a few tentative steps away from the cubicle.
"I could use a hand myself," this from the woman in the cubicle next to Gilly. She was a thickwaisted brunette with droopy tits and a nasty grin. She stood rather than sat, with her feet wide apart, as the hoses drained her. One hand played with her pussy, the other was looped around her backside and wedged between her square buttocks. She'd buried three fingers deep inside her ass.
"Is that you Meela?" Gilly said. She didn't dare lean back far enough to see around the partition wall. "You don't even like men."
"Right now I'd like anybody that has a spare hand."
Berto had to smile. "She saw me first," he said, jerking his head at the tall redhead. He stopped in front of her, or rather in back of her as she faced the rear of the cubicle. His cock felt like molten steel; he didn't how the hell he could keep from introducing it, somehow, to this woman that wanted his services, but he'd be damned if he'd let a lack of self control ruin what he had with Gilly.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Chris was having trouble focusing his eyes, and kept licking his lips because his mouth was so dry. His knees were raw and bright red, and his hips creaked and clicked weirdly from the hours of continuous thrusting. He was so tired he could barely form coherent thoughts. The world swam in and out of focus. The only thing he could focus on was his unabated, planet-sized lust, and whatever willing orifice happened to be in front of him.
The woman currently kneeling before him, eagerly receiving his thrusts, was blonde, bronzed, with small breasts and a hearty ass. Her vagina was a loose puddle of human and Dane semen, the overflow running down the insides of her thighs. She didn't care, she just kept rubbing her clitoris with one hand while she grunted and gasped. The very air smelled of semen.
Gradually Chris became aware of a commotion down in the courtyard. He got his eyes focused, and was surprised to see a large number of blue beetles moving into view, marching toward the pews and the cluster of writhing flesh on the floor. After blinking a few times he could make out helmets and hard-shelled body armor and slowly came to the realization that the police had arrived. The Garshak Blues, in force, each officer carrying a meter-long stun rod.
Unoccupied women on the floor saw more males coming their way and charged. The Blues, apparently unperturbed at this, gently reached out and began tapping the nude grasping women with their stun rods. The touched women dropped instantly to the floor, some twitching.
"End of the ceremony," one of the officers announced through his helmet PA.
"They're totally jacked," another officer said casually as a dazed woman ground her juicy groin against his suit's thigh plate. He touched her with his stun rod and she fell onto her back, twitching. "Not a bad looking group this time," he observed. A pretty redhead dropped to her hands and knees right in front of him, presenting herself. She looked back over her shoulder just as the officer slid the end of his stun rod deep into her slick channel and hit the trigger. The woman bucked a foot off the floor and landed hard on her side, unconscious.
"Jesus, Carl," one of the other Blues said, his helmet shaking.
Behind the advancing double row of armored officers were more uniforms, collecting the stunned females and heaving them into a small PerpWagon, little more than a small, motorized cage on wheels. Gradually the procession moved across the courtyard. Wails of disappointed women echoed off the walls, but not one of them stopped their fornicating until touched by a stun rod.
Chris saw an officer use her rod on a woman still being vigorously plowed by a large Dane. She slumped to the floor while the Dane leapt sideways with a yowl. It scurried to a corner and frantically licked at its pained member.
"That's gotta hurt," the female trooper said, eliciting laughs from her coworkers.
An armored officer lumbered up the stairs to the landing where Chris still toiled in the blonde. Chris saw his eyes regarding him through he helmet's visor. The bulky armored cop looked bored.
"It's not my fault," Chris panted. "I can't help it. They gave me drugs." His thrusts never slowed.
"Tell me something I don't know," he was told, the officer's armored bulk moving toward him. "You're not the first spacer they've grabbed, and you sure as krikes won't be the last." He stopped beside Chris and raised the stun rod. "Sorry about this, but I'm not going to have you humping my leg all the way back to headquarters."
A flash lit the sky behind Chris' eyes and then he knew no more.
Berto found Gilly just outside the one-way security gate at the rear of the Dairy. She was talking to several nursers, and surrounded by a dozen more, all chatting happily. He pushed through the gate, massaging his aching forearm. Gilly saw him as he came close, and gave him a little smirking smile.
"That wasn't so bad now, was it?" she said, eyes twinkling.
"They were about ready to rape me," he told her. "As soon as they saw you walk out, they figured I was fair game." He massaged his forearm some more, noticing just how sticky the fingers of that hand were.
"I wondered what you would do," Gilly said.
"I came with you," Berto told her.
"I bet you did," the nurser standing next to Gilly said with a laugh. She, like all the other nursers standing around, fresh from the hoses, looked flatchested and flabby, nipples huge and ringed in red from the vacuum hoses. As big as Gilly's nipples had been before milking, now they were gigantic, having expanded in width to fill the two-inch wide nozzle mouths and nearly doubling in length. With all the talk of them being cowgirls, their nipples really did look like udders after they'd been on the hoses. Drawteat aside, the immediate size increase was only temporary.
All the nursers were relaxed, and seemed in good spirits. Berto supposed there must be something inherently comforting in the act of milking itself, even if there wasn't an infant involved.
"Did I tell you I pumped out three twenty-two just now?" Gilly asked him. "That's a record. I'd like to do that every time if it didn't hurt so much."
"You can stretch yourself out pretty quick if you want to do that," the other nurser said. She was short, and had her short hair dyed a royal blue to match her eyes, and wore a pink tongi tied loosely around her waist. It was open at her neck and her top two breasts were pulled out. They were flat bags on her chest, pale and finely traced with blurry blue veins. She was massaging her nipples and Berto couldn't help but stare at them. Even though she looked rather young, there was no denying she was suffering from a rather advanced case of drawteat. Her nipples were well over ten centimeters long and as big around as his thumb, fingers of flesh hanging from her breasts and looking for all the world like udders, hard as it was for him to believe. In fact, it wasn't just her nipples that had been sucked out. Only the last half of the fleshy fingers were nipple; the rest was just plain breast. She looked as young as Gilly until he got up close and saw the lines in the corners of her eyes.
"My teats are still tingling, I think they've got the vacuum system turned up a click today." She nodded at Gilly's chest. "Couple or three weeks, and then the stretching doesn't hurt nearly so bad. My sister did it, but her teats were on the small side. Still are, really. Of course, at first it's horrible." Berto couldn't stop staring as she massaged the udders on her chest. They were like penises dangling from her breasts. The white drops at their tips only added to the illusion.
"Is there a toilet anywhere around here?" Berto asked Gilly, lifting his hand. He had to get out of there before he did something unwise.
"What do you want to wash that off for?" another nurser called out. "The way you had that newbie squirtin' and screamin' I figured you'd want to cut off that hand and put it in a trophy case." The whole crowd laughed, and Berto felt the stares of a dozen women. He could've gone home with any one of them if he decided to abandon Gilly, he was sure of it; nursers as a rule seemed to be unmarried and, as he'd discovered, very, very friendly.
After he'd helped the redhead out with the aid of a few well-placed fingers, the nurser in the next cubicle had pleaded with him, nearly crying, to have sex with her. She was young, the youngest looking nurser he'd seen, and he doubted that she'd been nursing for long -- the nozzles practically swallowed her tiny breasts. They were mere swellings on her thin, boyish torso. She looked uncertain, timid, and horny as hell -- the pop apparently was wreaking havoc between her legs. She'd insisted she was sixteen years old -- Berto had asked her three times, not wanting to end up in the city jail; her body could've been that of a ten year old boy's but for all the nipples.
"I still can't believe she was sixteen," Berto said to the nurser that had made the remark. She was muscular, and had her hair shorn to stubble.
"So what if she wasn't?" As she spoke he noticed her tongue was split, forked like a snake's. Between that and her haircut, it became apparent to him that she was a stud dahlia. There didn't seem to be too many nursers that leaned that way. Maybe it was the hormones. "You didn't do anything that violated the Natural Law."
"She looked sixteen," another nurser chimed in. "Maybe older."
"I just don't want to end up in jail," Berto said. He was wracking his brain for the pertinent local laws, but his memdump seemed to have huge holes in it when it came to certain subjects.
"For what?" he was asked by several people.
"Consensual sex is not illegal on Monsipur, silly," Gilly told him, looking at him strangely. "What kind of crazy laws do they have where you're from? Everyone heard her begging you to plow her, and you still only used your fingers."
"I'm talking about--" he began, then shook his head. He was pretty sure he didn't even want to know. The girl sure didn't have any complaints. "Never mind. Where's the toilet?"
"There's one for nursers nearby, but I don't think men are allowed to use it," Gilly said, looking around.
"I'm pretty sure that if you go down there and take the elevator up one floor, or maybe it's two, there's a public restroom right there," Blue-Hair told him. "I really need to get something to eat," she told Gilly. She tucked her breasts away, for which Berto was grateful.
"And drink," Gilly agreed. "Why don't you meet us on the mezzanine level," Gilly told him. "There's a little cafe I like right in sight of the magrail platform. NOODLES. We'll meet you there."
"Okay."
New nursers arrived and others left, but the size of the crowd outside the Dairy exit stayed about the same. Berto politely moved past them, ignoring the hand that reached out and squeezed his ass, and started down the hallway in the direction Blue-Hair had indicated. Around a corner he found a bank of elevators, with the doors of one car conveniently standing open. He stepped inside, but then had to pause. Not only wasn't he sure which floor he was on, all the writing on the control panel was in Monny, and his grasp of the written language seemed to be right around zero.
"Up one floor," he said, hoping that would get him where he needed to go. The redhead had been a joy to pleasure, as had the bubbly girl, but there was no mistaking where his hand had been. Her juices had run all the way down to his elbow, and dried into a crackling aromatic glaze. His forearm creaked -- she'd been as tight as a clenched fist. He needed to urinate, too, and soon.
The lift doors closed and he felt the car begin to move upward. After twenty seconds, however, it was obvious the elevator was taking him somewhere other than "up one floor". Up about twenty floors is what he guessed, when the car finally stopped and the doors opened.
The hallway was nondescript, stretching off into the distance in shades of grey. Berto exited the elevator car and checked the immediate area for any sign of a restroom or toilet. There was none, of course; he was nowhere near where he was supposed to be, that much was clear. If he didn't know better he would have sworn the lift had taken him clear across town to the Garshak Superior, the hallway was lined with doors much like a hotel corridor. He turned around to take the elevator back down just in time to see the doors close.
There was a handwritten sign stuck to the wall next to the lift doors but again he couldn't read it. After five minutes of pushing the call button with no response, he began to suspect -- and rightly so -- that the sign said Out Of Order. This floor only seemed to be serviced by the one elevator. "Bastard," he cursed. There seemed to be no stairwell anywhere nearby, so he started down the corridor, hoping to find a person, a stairwell door, or a floor directory -- something.
The hallway curved gently to the left, featureless except for the doors, which were numbered. All the numbers began with '23', so he assumed he was on the twenty-third floor. He'd traveled nearly two-hundred feet down the hall when the far end of the corridor came into view. It looked like it ended in a T-intersection, and no elevator in sight. The elevator he'd come up in was already out of sight around the curve behind him.
Voices and an open door on his left brought him up short. One of the doors -- 2357 -- was open a foot, and light spilled out into the hall. He heard a male voice, then another.
Berto had no wish to intrude; in fact, he wouldn't have been surprised to learn that these were the staff living quarters. But he didn't want to go wandering around the building for hours, lost, with Gilly waiting for him on the mezzanine. He put his palm against the door and slowly pushed in open a few more inches.
The solid door, painted a glossy blue-grey, slid open with just a soft hiss as it rubbed against the thick carpet. It revealed a short corridor decorated with small pictures and other personal items, obviously someone's apartment. It was against his nature to intrude, but he really didn't want to wander around for another ten minutes looking for the elevators.
He opened his mouth to call out a friendly hello, then stopped, realizing it'd been a while since he'd heard any sounds from inside the apartment. The hallway ran about twelve feet into the apartment before opening up to the left into a room, presumably. The hallway's only feature was a door on the left side that Berto would've bet led into a bathroom. Past where the corridor ended there was a door on the right, and that suddenly opened, flooding the dim room with light.
"There we go," Berto heard a man's voice say approvingly. A hand appeared on the doorjamb, and then a woman stepped into view. Dark blonde hair in a man's short cut, with an angular face. She was just pulling a thin shirt over her head; other than that, she was nude, and at least eight months pregnant. Her big belly was a giant globe that had just started to drop, and it seemed even more massive on her thin frame. Her swollen breasts were tipped with tiny, dark dark nipples.
The first thing she did was turn her head and look right at Berto standing in the hallway staring at her. Her brows knitted together. Luckily, his body language was that of a man who had been walking by and been brought up short by the open door. She turned her head back into the room.
"Which one of you zipheads left the door open?" she scolded in a purring voice, then headed down the hall. Berto froze for a second, eyes glued to her body, then he gave a little nervous wave and scooted on down the hall, never looking back. The blonde stuck her head out into the corridor, watched him for a second, then closed the door.
"I was beginning to think you'd left me," Gilly said. She and Yuki of the blue hair were standing outside the little cafe when Berto came jogging up. They'd finished their food and had been debating whether they should wait any longer for Berto.
"I got lost," he explained, panting a little.
"I wondered if you'd gotten a better offer," she said. He could tell that she'd worked herself up with the thought of what might have been.
"I told you, I came with you," he repeated. "Unless you're tired of me? I can go back to my hotel, alone, if you want."
Gilly looked down, and seemed to get a little weepy. Then a big grin crept across her face and she shook her head. "Come see my apartment," she told him.
They got in line for the magrail, Yuki tagging along for part of the way at least, and talked until the next train arrived. It was a little early for the mid-day lunch crowd and the car was only a third full.
"Are you still gloving those cute boys?" Gilly asked.
"The brothers? Every day after school. Training 'em right."
"How old are they now? Twenty-two?" Gilly smirked. "You've been training them for almost three years, they ought to be getting pretty good. What does their mother have to say?"
"She's grateful I get them out of her hair and tire them out so they don't have the energy to misbehave. Triplets." Yuki shook her head in disbelief. "I can't imagine raising one, much less three all at once."
"That's got to be tough," Gilly agreed. "But you're going to spoil them for natural women, they're going to think everyone's as bubbly as we are."
Yuki shrugged. "Maybe they'll all marry nursers."
"If their pops have been hitting the other girls like us lately, those boys might end up all married to the same nurser."
They'd only been underway for a few minutes, chatting amiably, when Berto looked up to see another woman dressed as if she was a nun standing in front of him. She wasn't the same nun he'd seen on the magrail coming in; this one seemed younger, just as pretty, but less regal, somehow. The black robes she wore covered her to wrists and ankles, with many folds around her legs. A ten-inch-long white cross hung between her thighs from a double string of large white beads looped loosely around her hips. The black, flat-topped headdress enclosed her heart-shaped face in a white frame, and came down to her shoulders. She had a healthy chest, and the baggy habit couldn't conceal her hourglass figure, but Berto wasn't sure if he was actually supposed to notice such things on a nun.
"Good morning, brother," she said to him. Her hands were clasped together at her waist. "How are you this beautiful day?"
"Fine, thank you," he replied with a smile. He hoped responding wouldn't encourage her to try to convert him or something. The magrail started around a curve with a slight jolt and she had to widen her stance to keep her balance. Berto noticed the nun was wearing black, pointy-toed high heel boots of some kind. Not exactly what he would consider proper footgear for a nun.
She tilted her head and regarded him with a warm, loving smile. "Is there any way I can ease your day? You seem tired. Together let us honor him by rejoicing in those gifts which God has given us." She turned her head and smiled at Berto's two companions. Her body swayed as the car gently rocked around another curve. What he had assumed was a fold in the skirt of her robe revealed itself to be a slit which went all the way up past her hip. A bare thigh, shapely and muscular, peeked out at him, before the natural rocking motion of the train caused the slit to close again. It was a hell of a thigh, the kind any man would want to run his tongue up and down. Smooth, lightly tanned . . . . He blinked his eyes, then looked up into her blue eyes. They were clear and free of deceit, and stared at him with honesty and kindness.
"Maybe some other time," he said dully.
"No thank you, Sister," Yuki said. Gilly smiled and shook her head.
The woman in black smiled and inclined her head toward them. "May the love of our Lord God stay with you always," she told them, and moved to step away. The car jolted again, just a little bump, but it was enough to throw the Sister off balance. Berto's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.
She smiled. "Why, thank--" She stopped, and regarded him quizzically, cocking her head. She'd seen the speed at which he'd moved, knew what kind of reflexes that took, felt the unusual strength in his grip. Her free hand came up to touch his fingers still clamped around her wrist, subtly evaluating the muscle and tendons. "You're a long way from home," she murmured. Gilly gave her a strange look. Berto saw it, and quickly pulled his hand away, brows knit together. The Sister smiled again, realizing she'd made him uncomfortable, and moved off down the car without another word. As she walked he could see there were several slits in her skirt, all of which ran nearly to her waist.
Near the end of the car the nun engaged a professional-looking couple in conversation. The pair were in their forties or fifties, the man in a traditional suit, the woman wearing a boxy business blazer over a TwoSkin sheathskirt. After less than a minute the nun turned away from the couple and bent at the waist, pressing her palms flat against the wall of the car. The man lifted up the skirt of her robes and threw it over the nun's back. Underneath, she was nude, and in even better shape than Berto would have guessed. The man fished around in his pants, pulled out his penis, and stepped up behind the Sister. As soon as he pushed inside her he started gasping and quivering. He had to hold onto the Sister's hips just to keep his balance. His blazered partner watched with an amused expression on her face, until the nun reached up under the woman's short skirt with one hand. Within seconds she was arching her hips forward, up on her tiptoes, mouth in a huge "O".
Berto looked at Gilly, then at Yuki, both of whom were staring out the windows looking bored. So were most of the other passengers, except for a couple on the bench halfway down the car having sex. A man, still clothed but with his tongi undone, was straddled by a small, skinny figure bouncing enthusiastically up and down. She was nude, and so small and thin the cock she was spitted on looked enormous by comparison. As Berto stared at her he realized she couldn't weigh more than twenty-five or thirty kilos. Her feet were flat on the bench to either side of the man, fingers interlaced behind his neck, and he stared into her eyes as she energetically bounced. The only person inside the car who seemed to have any interest in the couple was a young boy of about three industriously picking his nose.
"Okay, I realize I'm from off-world, and we have different customs," he said, his voice cracking, "but would someone please explain to me just what the hell is going on?" It came out almost in a shout.
At the sound of his strained voice, the bouncing female turned her head and looked his way. When Berto finally got a good look at her he shot to his feet in outrage and pointed, looking back at Gilly.
"Are you going to try to tell me that's legal?" he demanded, nearly shouting. He took a step toward the couple, but stopped, sensing something out of kilter. Gilly and Yuki looked startled, and looked to where he was pointing. Gilly's mouth opened in a huge "O" when she understood the source of Berto's concern.
"Is he talking about the squeaker?" Yuki whispered to her fellow nurser.
"She's probably older than you," Gilly tried to tell him, talking quietly, hoping he would sit down and not embarrass himself or them any further. "She's not -- it's a birth defect, caused by a drug they used to use to prevent early labor, before I was even born. Whoever took it -- their children, that is, just stopped growing when they reached a certain age. We call 'em squeakers."
Gilly's attempt to avoid a scene didn't work. "Little people," the female in question corrected her angrily, in a high voice. Her small ass came briefly to a rest on top of the man's lap as she glared at Berto and Gilly. Her back shone with perspiration. The top of her head was below her partner's.
"Goddamn ignorant offworlders," the man growled. "We've been married for fifteen fucking years," he said indignantly to Berto. His hands, while not big, almost completely encircled his wife's waist. She was scowling at Berto, face partially hidden by one of her knobby knees. There were a few lines around her eyes and mouth, he could see them now what with her face scrunched all up. The two of them stared at Berto for a few more seconds, then the female whispered into her husband's ear and began slowly grinding on him. She and her husband kissed passionately, and he reached up to pinch her tiny nipples. She looked back at Berto as she worked her hips and grunted, just to tweak him. After a few seconds she tired of taunting him and went back to kissing her husband. Soon she was sliding up and down on his shaft again, gathering speed.
Berto stood there for a good thirty seconds, mouth hanging open, staring at the couple. Finally he sat down, still watching the miniscule woman bouncing up and down on a penis as thick as her ankle. She was panting and grunting and working her hips with practiced skill. He noticed quite a few people in the car were staring at him now.
"How'd you like to have her chest?" Yuki murmured, nodding at the squeaker. "Might as well be a boy. Krikes, I bet she's as tight as a vise, look at her hips. Where does she put it?"
"He's big," Gilly agreed quietly, nodding. "Most squeakers can't handle a normal sized man without elastomers or years of work, and look, she's taking him to the base. Krikes, you can see her stomach bulging out. Well, he did say they'd been married fifteen years, that's plenty of time to've stretched her out. I bet when they started dating one finger was enough for her."
"How could you tell, just by looking at her, before she said anything, that she was a squeaker?" Berto asked Gilly after another long pause.
At first she didn't understand the question. Then she got his point. "Oh! Well, ah . . . hmmm."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Berto was in the small kitchen making himself a snack when the apartment's front door opened. He turned to see an astonishingly grimy figure trudge in, carrying a big, heavy looking gear bag.
It was a woman, in dark blue baggy coveralls and squaretoed workboots. Her long, matted black hair was tied into a shaggy knot behind her neck. The coveralls were filthy, smeared from collar to cuffs with black grease and the orange soil of Monsipur. Her skin was grey from dust and dirt.
She stopped when she saw Berto and stared at him suspiciously. Her eyes were white orbs set into the dirty brown of her face. She quickly glanced around, checking to see if there were any other surprises awaiting her. Missing furniture, dead bodies, more strange men.
"Who are you?" she asked gruffly.
"Berto. I'm a . . . friend of Gilly's," he told the woman. Between the dirt, the baggy coveralls, and the wild hair shadowing her face, he couldn't tell if she was thick or thin, pretty or ugly. She looked past him, toward the bedrooms.
"She's not here, she's at the Dairy," Berto told her.
The woman seemed unsure of what to do. She obviously hadn't been expecting to see a strange man in the apartment. Berto tried to set her at ease.
"You a pusher, or do you work the rail?" he asked, using slang he hoped was still current. She tilted her head and looked at him.
"Blast crew. I work the drill."
"Damn. You must be stronger than you look."
She set her bag down on the floor with a thump and brushed the hair back from her grimy face. "What do you know? You been down?"
"In my youth," he told her. "In my youth. Three years, working a baby scoop, mostly."
"Where?"
"Bell's Marble. You've probably never heard of it out here."
"You worked the Marble?" she said incredulously. "When was this?"
"Sixty to sixty-two. I was fifteen when I got the job, thought I would be seeing the universe." He laughed. "Never realized you can't see many stars when you're a mile down. The whole crew was a bunch of kids, we were the only ones willing to work for what they were paying."
"Were you there when the dome blew?" So she had heard of it.
Bell's Marble had been a small moon a long way from nowhere. A survey crew discovered it was indescribably dense with all sorts of mineral deposits. To mine it ComExCo had erected several pressurized domes, each a mile across, and tunneled down from each one. The moon was nearly solid rock, dense enough to have workable gravity. This helped keep the air pumped into the mines from leaking out into space. The domes were supposed to be shielded, but apparently ComExCo had run out of money and decided to play the odds. An asteroid the size of a small building impacted one of the domes, blowing it and collapsing the mineshaft below.
"I was near the bottom of the shaft when the rock hit. A mile down, give or take. There were about two hundred of us, in a pretty big air pocket. We didn't know how much of the shaft had collapsed, or even why. We actually felt the impact, but none of us knew what it was. I thought maybe the resupply ship had crashed, even though it wasn't due for days. We were so deep, though . . . our air pocket was big, but we knew it wouldn't last forever."
"How long did it take you to get out?"
"A month." He was staring off across the room, but what he was seeing wasn't there.
"A month?" It seemed impossible to believe.
"Yeah. We had to dig damn near the entire shaft out again. We'd dig out a hundred meters, move up, and then the shaft would collapse again, sometimes in front, sometimes in back, sometimes right on top of us. The impact fractured every strata of rock there was. Everything was giving way. Every time we were about to run out of air we'd break through into another pocket. We found other survivors, but not many."
"How'd you survive without food and water?"
"Well, we had water. We used the old Belsen Power Rams? The 4000's? They were water cooled, forty gallons each, which still wasn't enough, but we lost so many people to cave-ins that somehow we made do. And it was a good thing it took us so long to dig out, too," Berto told her, lost in the memory. "They only had the dome repaired and repressurized six hours when we broke through. If we'd have been any quicker we'd have dug ourselves right out into a vacuum and floated out into space."
The woman looked down and shook her head. "How many of you made it out?"
"Well, there were over a thousand in our shaft when the rock hit. Most died in the initial cave-in. When we finally dug our way out there were forty-four of us left. That's when I decided to quit mining and join the Marines. Mining was just too dangerous." He gave her a quick, strained smile. Faces kept flashing across his brain, men who'd died next to him in the mine, some kids younger than he'd been. He hadn't meant to ramble on for so long, but he hadn't thought about the Marble in so long the memories had kind of snuck up on him.
"All of our safety measures are geared toward preventing everything that happened to you," she told him. "That fiasco sent ComExCo into bankruptcy. They had to close the Marble to pay all the insurance benefits." She looked at him strangely. "You're heroes, you know that? You must. Everyone knows the story, about how you refused to give up, and dug a mile quicker than anybody before or since."
"We weren't heroes, we were just scared kids who didn't want to die on a shitty little moon no one had ever heard of. And we were digging through loose and fractured rock, so it's not the same thing as a virgin shaft."
She stepped around the counter and stuck out a hand. "I'm Sam," she told him.
"You're Sam?" he said, shaking her hand. It was hot and dry, and she had a grip like a vise. When Gilly had informed him that she had a roommate named Sam, most of his enthusiasm about seeing her apartment had quickly drained away. "The roommate? I thought . . . well, I was expecting someone a little more male."
"Samantha," she told him. "Where did you and Gilly meet?"
"Port Authority, last night," he told her. "I'd just gotten through decontam -- I'm a long hauler now," he explained. "I was eating dinner when Gilly came in, and, well, her hormone pop was hitting her pretty hard," he said, wondering what her reaction would be.
"She must like you if she brought you here," Sam told him. She suddenly noticed the dirt she'd smudged onto his hand with hers, and looked down at herself.
"I've got to get cleaned up," she apologized. "We do twenty days on and six off. They barely bring in enough water for us to drink, forget about a wetshower."
"I'll try to stay out of your way," he told her. "I'm not sure when Gilly'll be back, she left about forty minutes ago. Maybe we could have dinner together later? If you're not too tired?"
Sam smiled at him, her teeth a brilliant white against her sooty face. "I'd like that." She grabbed her bag, took a few steps, then stopped and looked at him. She opened her mouth to speak, then changed her mind, shook her head, and disappeared into her bedroom. She was still in there when Gilly returned, looking skinny after being pumped out.
"Your roommate's home."
"Sam? Oh good. I hope she wasn't too mean to you, sometimes she's real cranky when she comes home, she's so tired."
"We got along fine. I used to mine, years and years ago, so we had something to talk about. She's in there cleaning up." He nodded toward the bedroom.
"Can you believe how filthy she gets? The owners say they can't afford to install wetshowers in the crew quarters. I think that's horrible. It's bad enough that they're in the middle of nowhere. That's why they work so many days in a row and live in barracks right next to the mine; the mine's a good day's travel from anywhere. If they worked any fewer days they'd have to spend their entire time off traveling back and forth."
"I told her I thought maybe we could have dinner together, and she seemed to like the idea."
"She'll want to stay in, but I know just what to fix," Gilly said enthusiastically. "Are you eating now?"
Berto looked down at the cracker he had in his hand. "Well, uh--"
"Let me go ask Sam if she's hungry, and maybe I'll just start dinner right away." She disappeared into the bedroom, emerging a minute later wearing a mischievous smile.
"We'll eat here," Gilly said with a twisted grin. "She's hungry now." She kept grinning at him.
"What? Why are you smiling?"
Gilly's smile grew wider. "She likes you," she told him, lowering her voice.
"Oh," Berto said, a bit taken aback. "Well . . . ."
"It's okay," Gilly told him. "She hardly ever likes anybody. All she ever does is work work work."
"But, I mean," he said, not exactly sure what Gilly meant, "she knows I'm with you, right? I told her how we met."
"Oh, don't be such a ninny," Gilly mock scolded him. "Just relax. I didn't know bubbly girls got you so nervous. Now go sit down over there, I've got to start dinner." When she opened the cooler all Berto could see were the rows of vitamin-fortified fruit juice containers that filled half the interior.
When Sam finally exited her room, it was obvious she'd dressed in her best for dinner, but still the transformation was so startling that Berto could only stare at her, speechless. Gone was the matted hair, the grimy skin, the shapeless soiled jumpsuit. What strolled out of Sam's room was a strikingly beautiful woman that bore no resemblance at all to the tunnel rat who'd gone in.
Sam's hair was glossy and hung in ebony ringlets to the middle of her back. It was gathered loosely at the base of her neck, not quite a ponytail. Her bronzed skin shone and smelled of exotic oils and the faint trace of perfume. Her lips and eyelashes had been subtly accented.
Sam wore a midriff-baring long-sleeved formal jacket made of a stiff green fabric. It revealed a remarkably slender body, deeply tanned, without an ounce of fat anywhere on it. Her washboard stomach literally rippled with muscle. Slung low on her hips was a tight green skirt that barely reached mid-thigh and revealed the most shapely, athletic legs Berto had ever seen outside of a PowerBall court. She wore black high heel gloves on her feet, stretchy rubber shoes with tall spike heels.
"This is a little better," she said with feigned nonchalance as she sauntered out of her bedroom. "I actually feel human again after that shower."
"My God, you are one beautiful woman," Berto blurted out, staring at her. She turned red, and he immediately wished he'd kept his mouth shut, but Sam didn't seem offended. Gilly just giggled.
Sam appeared to be a few years younger than him, with a long face and full, sensuous lips. Looking at her made him wish he'd brought along something nicer to wear. Especially when Gilly retired to her own bedroom to "change into something special", leaving the roast to slow cook in the P-Wave oven.
Berto couldn't even remember what he and Sam talked about before dinner. She had a wonderful sense of humor, and a great laugh, although she was obviously unused to wearing a skirt, especially one so short. It was a constant struggle for him to keep his eyes on her face as they talked. She sat across from him and nervously bounced her knees open and closed.
Gilly's "something special" turned out to be a blue textured elastic bodysuit with a high collar and a wide zipper than ran from her throat all the way down between her legs. The one-piece had molded-in cups for her breasts that kept them high and round even in her drained state. The bodysuit ended at her knees and elbows, and she wore sporty red thick soled boots to accent the blue outfit. For the first time since he'd met her Gilly was wearing makeup, and her short hair was slicked back. It made her look older, and a lot more sophisticated.
"Now I really feel poorly dressed," Berto said, standing up reflexively as she came out of her bedroom. "You two look spectacular."
"You look fine," Sam assured him.
Gilly giggled and stepped into the kitchen to check on dinner. He saw the zipper running down the front of her bodysuit came up between her buttocks and stopped at the small of her back. There was a pull tab there as well as at the other end of the zipper at her throat. The textured bodysuit clung tight to her body, although the fabric wasn't nearly as revealing as TwoSkin would've been. Somehow that made it even sexier. Berto could hardly concentrate on the tasty meal with the two of them dressed as they were, chatting gaily and flirting up a storm.
He flirted with both of them, enjoying himself immensely, but kept careful watch on Gilly's reactions. He didn't want her upset with him, but he apparently needn't have worried; Gilly seemed almost to be encouraging his flirting with Sam.
He talked of his time in the mines, and the Marines. The two women kept him going with their questions, but eventually he did get to ask Sam about her mine, and how her crew worked. There seemed to be some sort of unspoken communication going on between the two women that he couldn't decipher, a language consisting of raised eyebrows, knowing looks, nods, and sly smiles.
"I can't remember the last time I sat down to a home-cooked meal," Berto said with relish. He pushed himself away from the table. "Must be ten years. And I know I've never had prettier company."
Not only was it pure flattery, it was one hundred percent true. The evening had been like a dream, some fanciful concoction of his subconscious. He was afraid he'd wake up and find himself back in his bunk onboard ship. But there was no way he could have dreamed up two women as beautiful, in such different ways, as Gilly and Sam. His imagination wasn't that good.
Gilly had downed nearly three liters of juice during the meal, and the front of her bodysuit was noticeably bigger. Sam's stomach, on the other hand, was so flat that even sitting down there was only one shallow wrinkle running straight across her navel.
"I haven't eaten that much in a long time."
"Don't you have any room left for dessert?" Gilly asked with a twinkle in her eye. She and Sam exchanged another knowing look.
"If I eat anymore right now I'm going to fall asleep," Berto admitted.
Gilly stood up, and moved toward the kitchen. "You two go sit down, I'll get us something to drink."
Sam led him into the livingroom and sat on the low couch. She patted the cushion right beside her hip, but Berto left six inches of space between them. Gilly came into the room with two small cups.
"Candlelight," she called out, and the bright white indirect lighting faded to a warm yellow glow. "Rosebriar for the two of you," she said, handing them the two cups half-full of amber liquid. Rosebriar was a strong liqueur he'd heard of but never tasted.
"You're not having any?" Berto said. Gilly strode back into the kitchen. He felt Sam slide closer to him on the couch, felt the heat of her thigh against his, but didn't look.
"I'm not allowed to drink alcohol," she told him. "I'll have water."
Berto glanced at Sam, gave her a quick smile, and drank a little of the Rosebriar. It burned all the way down. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her staring at him.
"Um," he said nervously, "are there a lot of women working the mines here?"
"No," she told him, leaning closer. "Most women can't handle the work, or the company. But there's a few."
"It was all men when I worked the Marble."
"For three years? D'you get any leave? No? Wow, that doesn't sound like fun. At least I only do twenty days before getting a break."
"Don't you . . . I mean, uh, are the barracks coed?"
She knew what he was getting at. "The ratio's twenty to one. Even if I wanted to sleep with one of them, I'd have to sleep with them all, and then they'd be fighting over me -- you know how miners are. If I wanted to do that I'd have joined the Sisterhood. And yes, the barracks are coed. About once a month I have to discourage someone's advances."
"How?"
"Broken bones, usually. The women that don't take care of themselves end up getting raped. Those that stay become public housing. You wouldn't believe the stories I hear about some of the really remote digs."
"I bet I would."
Gilly sat down on his other side and took a long drink of water. She set the tall container down on the table. While he was watching Sam leaned over and began tonguing his ear. Berto froze, eyes darting to Gilly. It wasn't long before she noticed Sam, but all Gilly did was smirk. Sam kept working at his ear, breathing hard, and Gilly watched with a slight hint of amusement on her face. He imagined he looked like a panicked animal caught in a bright light.
"What's the matter, don't you like Sam?" Gilly finally asked, when Berto failed to respond. Sam pulled back, looking distraught and very heated up. For his part Berto was glad his shirt covered his crotch.
"Well no, I mean, look, I thought you were . . . ." Berto began, then stopped and took a deep breath. He looked Sam in the eyes, put a gentle hand on her thigh and said "I like you very much." Then he turned to Gilly and said "But I came here as your guest."
"Don't be ridiculous," Gilly laughed. "Oh boy, I didn't know you were from New Mantique." She stood up, picked up her water, and waved a hand. "I'm not even here," she said, heading into the rear of the apartment. Berto watched her disappear down the hallway, then looked at Sam.
"Am I making too much of a fool out of myself?" he asked her. She took hold of his hand, still on her warm thigh, and lifted it from her flesh. Just as his heart began to plummet she pulled his hand toward her and slid it inside her top. Her small breast filled the palm of his hand, and he could feel her hard little nipple. Sam reached down and squeezed the raging erection trapped inside his pants. With a growl Berto pulled her to him and they attacked each other with their mouths.
They were a panting, groaning tangle on the couch, limbs akimbo. She jerked his cock roughly inside his pants, and he went after her nipples with his fingers.
"Oh God," she panted, breaking the kiss briefly as he pulled hard on her nipple. She straddled his thigh and pressed her crotch down onto him, hard. She ground herself against him, still jerking his cock, while he squeezed her breasts. They panted and groaned, tongues entwined like snakes.
Berto moved a hand down and pulled up the front of her skirt. Her mound pumped against his thigh, hidden by a narrow strip of panty. Berto slipped two fingers inside the elastic and found loose dangling labia slick with arousal. As he corkscrewed two fingers deep inside her she gasped and arched above him.
"Oh Krikes!" she barked hoarsely, rocking her hips against his hand. Berto twisted his fingers this way and that, and Sam gasped and twitched. Then she grabbed his wrist and climbed off the couch. His fingers slid out of her.
"What--?"
She pulled him off the couch by his wrist and headed for her bedroom door. He nearly had to run to keep up. Through the doorway she practically threw him onto the bed. She scrambled to pull her top off, then tugged the skirt down her shapely legs. She kicked her panties off into a corner and pushed Berto backward as he struggled to get his pants off.
"Light!" she called out. The recessed lamps blinked on at full power, illuminating everything in the room with clinical detail, just the way Sam liked it. She was even more athletic than Berto'd thought. Not an ounce of fat on her body, but enough muscle that she didn't look skinny. Her skin was brown as a tanned hide. Her arms and legs, while muscled, were also slender and very feminine. The only part of her body that wasn't taut and toned and angular were her breasts, small, rounded, firmly soft and high on her chest, tipped with tiny dark nipples.
She practically ripped the pants from Berto's legs and straddled him as he wrestled with his shirt. Sam's labia hung long and loose in sharp contrast to the rest of her body. They were dark, almost purplish-brown, wrinkled and puckered and at least an inch and a half long. Sam parted them with her fingertips and with her other hand guided his cockhead between her legs She sank onto his shaft with a groan, all the way down until her hard buttocks rested on him. "Firm mattress!" she called out, and he felt the bed stiffen under him. "Firmer."
Berto finally got his shirt off as Sam pulled her knees up and planted her feet on either side of his hips. Palms flat on his chest for balance, she began roughly bouncing her hips up and down. Her snug wet channel gripped him like a fist as she hammered herself on him with single-minded intensity. The mere violence of it was startling to him, and that was before she started cursing and yelling.
"Fuck! Yeah! Krikes! Oh. God. Yes! Fuck. Cock. Oh. Oh. Ahh!" Every downward thrust was accompanied by an exclamation. Berto just lay back, and watched her with wide eyes, hands gripping her wrists. She was bouncing on him fiercely, her wet groin smacking his hard enough to bounce him on the mattress. Every few minutes Sam would lower her knees to the bed and grind herself viciously against him. It helped her catch her breath, but soon she was back up, her vagina the only point of contact between them as she cycled up and down like a piston. At each impact her labia smashed flat around the base of his cock, as did her clit -- big and round and hard as a marble. She was so wet he could feel her juices running down the crack of his ass.
She bounced and ground, bounced and ground, cursing and grunting and panting, all the while staring him in the eye with an almost scary intensity. Soon her body was covered in a sheen of sweat, and she shone in the light coming through the open doorway.
Berto was sure he was going to have bruises on either side of his pubic mound from her bony ass. If she hadn't been so rough he would have already climaxed; she had him a little nervous.
Her motions became jerkier and more spasmodic as she bounced on him, harder and harder. He reached up and pinched her nipples; they were like little pebbles between his fingertips. She bounced around them, her breasts pulling this way and that, as he kept her nipples locked in place. Her curses grew more unintelligible, falling into animal grunts and groans. He had a hard time holding on to her nipples, her breasts were slick with sweat. It dripped from her nose onto his chest, and streaked her rippling stomach.
Finally she barked, a hard high gasping cry, and began a quivering and shaking, thrusting her pelvis hard against his. Her whole body tensed, the veins in her neck standing out like steel cables, and her furt clamped down on him like an oilsoaked vise. She jerked her mound against his slowly, like a metronome, each impact forcing a grunt through her clenched teeth, the time between each grinding thrust growing longer and longer.
With a grunt of his own Berto tensed up, and as Sam finally ground to a stop atop him his pulsing organ shot spurt after spurt into her. She collapsed onto him, chest heaving like she'd just finished a marathon. She pushed the hair back from her sweaty forehead, and gave him a stunned but warm smile.
"Krikes I needed that," she panted. Her body vibrated on his like a live wire, slick and hot. "Oh Krikes did I need that."
"You had me scared there for a minute," Berto said with a smile, only partly joking. "I thought you were trying to break it off."
She pouted a little, and gave him a quick kiss. "I just have all this pent-up energy after working my twenty," she explained, still panting. She reached down between her legs and gave his shaft a quick squeeze with her fingers. "Not broken off yet," she said with a smile. "So, how are you doing?" He felt her inner muscles clench around his mostly hard cock.
It struck him then just how totally opposite she and Gilly were from one another. Gilly was all youthful enthusiasm coupled with unexpected shyness and naivete. Her pale young skin was all rubbery curves and pink spots when she got excited. She had buckets of enthusiasm, but very little skill or technique. The joy with Gilly was seeing just how much fun she was having.
Sam, on the other hand, was leather--wrapped steel, and seemed much older than Gilly, although if Gilly was twenty-three they couldn't be that far apart in age. She was a long-limbed sexual spider sitting on top of him -- he had the feeling they'd hardly cracked the door of her sexual closet, that she knew tricks he'd never even heard of.
"A little dizzy, but I'll survive," Berto replied with a smile.
Sam grinned sexily and straightened up so that she was sitting properly atop him. Her brown skin glistened with sweat, and he stroked her thighs and stomach with his palms.
"Oooh, nice," she said. She reached around behind her ass and took hold of his balls. As Berto reached up and massaged her flat breasts she began slowly pumping her hips back and forth, working his tool around inside her wet channel. In no time he found himself back at full mast.
"Let me do some work," he said, sitting up. Sam grinned wildly and scampered off. She presented her narrow backside to him in what he soon discovered was her favorite position. Her slack folds hung down between her thighs and wiggled like a turkey's comb as he moved around on the bed behind her. Her skinny ass in combination with the wrinkled, dangling lips made her furt seem oversize, but Berto found her nice and snug, even after the rough ride she'd just taken.
She was as hard as a rock, every cell in her muscled body clenched tight as he pounded into her from behind. She pushed herself back at him as far as was possible, trying to sink him deeper. Sam grunted under the impact every time he slammed into her, but she liked it, liked it rough. She slammed back, bit her lip, and smiled to herself as he rode her hard.
His balls swung violently under her, slapping her mound every time he reversed direction. She reached between her legs and grabbed his sack, and squeezed and pulled on it as he pounded away. The sensations as she tugged at his balls were . . .
"Oh Krikes," he grunted, hunching over her narrow back, humping her seed into her with spasmodic jerks of his hips.
"Yeah! Give it to me! Fuck that furt! Fuck me like a Dane!" Sam pushed hard against him as Berto thrust and pulsed inside her. "Fill my biglipped cunt!"
Berto slowed to a jerking stop, panting. Her lithe body was like a wild animal's under him, thrumming with energy. Cords of muscle stood out on either side of her backbone, and ran down to the dimples at the small of her back. He still gripped her hips in his hands, and could tell just from her body language that she wanted more scooping. Unfortunately, he needed a little time for retooling. Maybe he should look around for that X-Tend vacpac.
Even though his cock was, at that moment, shrinking, his desire for her was unquenched. The things she said . . . he'd never had a woman who'd talked dirty in bed before, and he realized what he'd been missing.
"Krikes, you are unbelievable," he said. As she looked over her shoulder he flipped her over onto her back. She yelped in surprise and laughed, eagerly spreading her legs for him.
As muscled as Sam's body was, she was anything but stiff; she grabbed the inside of her spread thighs and pulled them back until her knees touched the bed. Berto lay before her and buried his face between her legs. She was sweaty, and sloppy, and tasted of his semen which leaked steadily out of her hole, but Berto didn't care. He attacked her sensitive flesh voraciously, like a cannibal who'd forgotten how to bite.
Her long winglike labia were a delight; he flicked them this way and that with his tongue, sucked on them, nibbled at their edges. Sam groaned and pulled her heels in close, arched her hips up toward his mouth.
Berto slid first one finger, then another into Sam's hot center. She was soupy with his seed and her own excitement, and his fingers swam in her as he pumped and twisted them about. He found her clit and used his lips and tongue on it. It was large as the end of his thumb, dark red and hard, and it radiated heat like a rock just pulled from a fire.
"Oh yeah, suck that pussy. Suck it! Krikes that feels good. Ohh, your fingers -- Ah shit! Tonguefuck my furt you animal!" She let go of a knee to press his face harder into her sloppy sex and continued to growl obscenities. "You like it? You like the taste of my cunt? I'm so fucking wet." Her words inflamed him and Berto worked at her even more vigorously. He turned his hand over so his fingers could curl up inside her, and he massaged the knot of sensitive flesh just inside her pubic bone.
"Cocklicker!" she nearly screamed, curling up off the bed, the tendons in her neck standing out like ropes. "Gape-assed whore bag!" Berto tongued and sucked hard on her clit and massaged in small circles the nerve bundle inside her with the flats of her fingers.
Sam lost the ability to speak and seemed locked into position, arched off the bed, eyes bulging, veins in her arms like sausages. At first no sound escaped from her, teeth clenched, lips back in near-rictus, but then her mouth opened into a ruby chasm and a scream erupted from her. She bucked violently on the bed, Berto's head trapped between her scissoring thighs. Sounds unlike any he'd ever heard spewed from her as she writhed on the bed. He hung on as well as he could, sucking and rubbing, trying not to black out as her thighs squeezed his neck like a vise. Her internal muscles clamped down on his fingers as she bucked and heaved, but he kept working his fingers inside her imprisoning flesh. She squirted, several times, right into his face, the clear fluid running down his chin onto his hand.
Finally the maelstrom ended, and the pressure of her cable-like thighs eased enough for him to draw an unrestricted breath.
"I can't tell you the last time I had a guy lick my furt who knew what he was doing," Sam gasped. She opened her thighs the rest of the way and lifted her head so she could see him. They smiled at each other, Berto's face a slimy mess from his nose down. He pushed himself back onto his knees and rubbed his neck.
"Did I squeeze you?" she asked, honestly ignorant.
"A little bit," he acknowledged.
"You poor baby," she said with a grin, rolled over, and came after him.
She swallowed his entire semi-hard organ in one gulp, smashing her nose against his mound. She sucked aggressively at him, and used her tongue inventively. Berto watched her working his shaft like a woman starving. She slurped and huffed and glorped, somehow knowing the sounds would excite him.
His organ grew quickly as she let the saliva hang in strings from her lips, bobbing her head and sucking and slurping at him. Sam stuck several fingers in her mouth and coated them with spit, then smeared it deep into the crack of his ass. She rewet her middle finger, then smoothly slid it between his legs and right into him.
Eeoooh!" He jerked, startled. No woman had ever done that to him before, much less one who so obviously knew what she was doing. She pressed hard on his prostate, massaged it, and his cock got harder than he thought possible. Now that he was fully erect his cock gagged her if she tried to swallow it all, but that didn't stop her. She pushed forward, opening wide, gagging and slurping, finger worming in his ass. Suddenly Gilly's head was down there beside Sam's, looking up at him mischievously. Sam backed off and turned her head a little to look at Gilly, still sucking hard on the head of Berto's cock.
"Can I join in?" Gilly asked with a cute pouting smile. "It sounded like you were having a lot of fun." Berto turned his head and saw that they'd never bothered to close the bedroom door.
Not waiting for a reply, Gilly began nibbling at the base of his shaft. Sam continued to suck at its head. Gilly was already nude, and as he caught glimpses of her half-full breasts swaying beneath her he saw she'd donned her steel nipple rollers. Her body looked soft and white, like a baby's, next to Sam's tanned physique.
"I still get his cock next," Sam said, finally letting his cock out of her mouth with a Plop! She lay back on the bed and spread her legs. "Stick your finger in his ass, like I was just doing," she told Gilly. Berto, halfway to Sam's prostrate body, halted and nervously looked back over his shoulder. Sam grabbed him and pulled him on top of her, in no mood to wait. He sunk his cock into her just as Gilly got a finger inside him. He stiffened, then relaxed and began pumping vigorously. On every upstroke Gilly's finger would wiggle deep into him. He couldn't help groaning. Gilly wasn't sure what she was supposed to be doing with her finger, so she redoubled her efforts.
"Holy Christ!" Berto gasped. Beneath him Sam smiled, and crossed her ankles high up behind his back. He stared into her beautiful face and they kissed, tongues gently entwining. He grunted into her mouth as Gilly explored his interior. She seemed genuinely intrigued by the feel of him around her finger.
Sam broke the kiss and called out to Gilly, "Stick a finger in my ass, too. I don't see why he should have all the fun."
From mere inches away he could tell just by the look on Sam's face exactly when the finger pushed into her.
"Does that feel good?" he heard Gilly say from behind him. "I've never tried it." From the almost alien expressions of ecstasy on Sam's face he knew Gilly's finger had to be dancing in her just as it was in him. In fact, he could feel it inside her, against the underside of his cock. The membranes separating the two probes in Sam were thinner than he would've suspected.
"Just you wait," Sam managed to gasp.
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